


Look at the buns on that guy

by Othalla



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Inception (2010)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Harry Potter Being an Idiot, Harry Potter Can't Flirt, Humor, M/M, Neville Longbottom Not Being an Idiot, Tom Hardy's Butt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 07:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13677156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Othalla/pseuds/Othalla
Summary: The man has the perfect butt.It's terrible.





	Look at the buns on that guy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shopfront](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/gifts).



> I appreciate Tom Hardy's ass too much not to write this fic :P
> 
> I hope you like it, too, recip person!
> 
> Also, everyone should appreciate [rosefox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosefox) bc they're amazing and knows grammar like wow.

The man has the most fuckable arse Harry has ever seen. It’s perfectly round. It’s wearing tailored trousers. It’s probably perky enough that you can bounce coins on it. It’s, as God himself would put it,   _perfect_.

It’s also ruining Harry’s life all the way from across the other side of the room.

The man leans more onto the bar, almost bending over, and Harry whines into his hands because it’s _terrible_. The man’s arse is high in the air. It’s practically begging you to look at it.

The patron standing next to the man leans back and smirks at it appreciatively.

“There, there,” Neville says consolingly. He pats Harry on the shoulder. Then he shoves a pint of beer up Harry’s face. “Drink and you’ll feel better.”

Harry’s not too sure that’s how it works, but trusts Neville’s judgement more than he does his own (considering the current circumstances) and so he swipes it. It’s not like it could make his evening worse, he’s pretty sure. At the very least it’s a distraction.

Harry could do with a distraction. From life in general, and a butt specifically.

Half a minute later, as Harry isn’t the most experienced swiper of beverages and is rather very slow in drinking, he puts the empty glass down on the table and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his arm.

Eugh. Muggle beer does not taste good.

“An ass man, huh. I should have figured,” Neville says and takes a sip out of his own glass. He leans back in his seat, a contemplative look on his face. “Can’t say I blame you, though. Even I can appreciate the buns on that guy. They look very… firm.” Neville makes a groping motion with his hands and wags his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry’s face goes red without any input from his brain. His cheeks are burning. You could fry eggs on them, probably. “Please, stop talking.”

Neville snorts. He doesn’t laugh, however, as some of Harry’s friends definitely would, so. Yeah. Harry can live with being slightly pitied for his lack of game and beer-drinking skills.

Harry understands his own patheticness, okay? He’s well aware he’s not an emotionally put together adult.

He stares mournfully at the man with the fantastic butt.

“So,” Neville says in a deceptively normal tone of voice, “are you going to go over and pick him up any time soon? A bloke like that won’t be alone for long, you know.”

“I know,” Harry says, because he does. Then he falls quiet, biting his lip uncertainly.

Neville makes circular motions with his hand, eyebrows raised high, and prompts Harry to continue. “And? Are you just going to mope about it?”

Harry hides his face in his arms on the table. “Stop talking about it,” he moans. “There’s no way I wouldn’t botch up flirting. And it’s not like he’d even go for me, anyhow. I’m Harry. I’m not hot.” He gestures at the man with the amazing butt. “Not like that, at least.”

“You’re Britain’s most eligible bachelor six years in a row and counting,” Neville says disbelievingly. “Why are you like this?”

“Magical Britain’s most eligible bachelor, you mean, and the judging body for eligibility in bachelors is probably biased considering how many times I saved _their_ butts from being slapped by the green beam of death. You can’t trust Magical Britain in _anything_ , Neville. They’re _sheep_.”

Neville laughs.

Harry groans into his arms. The table is sticky from spilt beer, and he’s probably going to be a mess when he removes himself from it, but he doesn’t want to face the world and all its pretty people at the moment.

“No, but seriously,” Neville says when he’s done laughing. “You never know until you try. Go hit on him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“But what if he rejects me?” Harry asks plaintively, looking up at Neville. “How will I _live_?”

Shrugging, Neville says, “You drink some more, and if you can’t find anyone else you want to moon at when the night’s over, you come home with me and we’ll eat ice cream and watch _The Notebook_.”

“Really?”

Neville smiles, only a little bit condescending, because he’s a nice person. “Really.”

Harry looks at the man with the fantastic butt. Somehow it seems to have improved in the minutes he’s spent not looking at it, which is incredible. “Okay,” he says. “I’m going to go there and flirt. It’s going to go terribly, but I’m going to do it.”

“Good man,” Neville says and slaps him on the back hard enough that Harry almost falls off his chair. The chair falls to the floor with a loud bang.

Harry glares at Neville, but Neville ignores him. Instead he’s grabbed by his jacket and pulled forward. Neville starts undoing the buttons on Harry’s shirt.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks in a high voice, just barely refraining from slapping Neville’s hands away and making a scene.

“Making sure that the bloke can see your best features,” Neville says and leans back to admire his work. “Lean down so I can fix your hair, you’ve got beer in it.”

Harry grumbles but relents and bends his head. “Nothing can fix my hair and you know it.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You have nice hair. It just needs a little direction and a helping hand,” Neville says. He looks Harry over one final time. “Maybe some gel, too, but I don’t have anything like that on me.”

Harry shifts on his feet nervuously, looking between Neville and the bar. “Can I go now?” he asks. If he doesn’t want to lose his nerve he probably should. Harry knows himself; thinking things over never ends well.

“You’re good to go,” Neville says.

Harry takes a deep breath. Then he starts walking.

The man with the amazing butt turns around, and oh, shit, he has a pretty face too, with pretty green eyes and the most fuckable lips Harry has ever seen, and _what the fuck how is this fair?_

Harry’s going to die.

 


End file.
